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Wednesday, 23 December 2009

Before the snow, the fearof being homeboundwith only my thoughts,my brain overfilled with timelike too much fodder in the shock.

After the snow, the fearis realized, the mind stutters,eyes scour the same wallsfor a change in landscapewhen out of the tundracomes the sound of nothing,the distant buzzbehind the bunker of winter,the pang of pins droppinglike long thoughts fallinginto snowy stillness—

Monday, 21 December 2009

I lay prostrate on the couch & worried & worriedThe newspaper scattered like leaves around my bierThe syllables of war trip over the tongue like poetryAfghaniraqdarfuristan & the birds are flutteringInto extinction In the latter days the seas ariseMy aunt says God is coming soon but where is heWhere is his sign I’ve lost you to the television& the latest tennis match among the titansWorried & worried until I saw the water’s reflectionOn the wall there A dancing curvature of light& through the glass I saw the egret winging pastThe long white neck folded & long dark legs foldedTrimly as a package born aloft on broad white wingsA love letter airmailed from a distant God

Saturday, 19 December 2009

On nights like this I would play my cello, the snow like tinfoil under a phosphorescent moon. Before I knew it, you were there, with your handkerchiefs and your melancholia. The light on my windowpane, a struck match all aglow. We would take turns cradling the instrument’s long neck, its cavernous belly, watching the cold metal strings shiver and hum. After each chord you’d swallow glittering nerve tablets, whispering: Be still. Be. Still. Its sonorous voice faded with each blue pill. And when the snow eddied and slushed, the cello safe in its towering white box, I took up sainthood to pass the time. On winter mornings my teeth still ache.

Tuesday, 8 December 2009

At the top of the world, we hungfrom a blue, cork, bulletin boardsky in a hot air balloon, lookingdown on a circus tent whose bigtop was open wide, revealing atable on which a birthday cakebrightly blazed, surrounded bybuoyant children floating inlaughter

A circle of cartwheeling clownstethered our ropes to the table,and a gust of wind lifted us higherand higher, bringing the table andchildren along

The sky gave off a greenish glowtinted with a faintness of red, andthe happy children danced on thesky to the music of a band calledNorthern Lights and the voice ofa singer named Aurora Borealis

Friday, 4 December 2009

Your freedom of the Odometer covers a lot of ground.To see the world in a grain of sand.For what it really is. Outpacing yourself in thattumbleweed camper. Fading into another sunset.Tracking the distances in your brain.Living Outside.Your second skin. The weathers.Reading the weathers. Nuance. Nuage. New Age.How it drenches a landscape. Renewal.The sun makes another snowman drunk.Throws an insect into your words.Like a dog barking into eveningcar chasing spectral shadows.The ills. What ails you, bends you.It all becomes willow in the weathers.When the comfort of your heart-shapedfurniture breaks down andemotions go thread bareYou seek the weathers.Make a hop pillow for your head.Lay down in the cocoon arms of Your MasterSmoothing out the rituals there.Remembering angles of lightthe quality of a waterfall.How everything goes suddenly gray.And you still perpetually wrapped, trappedin a west coast shroud rainand looking for the illusive shining treewhere it’s all written down. The weathers.

Tuesday, 1 December 2009

I swim in the rain.I don’t know the consequences of such a thing.Life is a Trojan horse.I seek less deception.I set out to seabent on swimming as far from shore as I could.I want to cleanse my heart.I seek immediate relief.The rain coincideswith the situation I am experiencing.I lost out on love.I don’t know what else to do.It is night and I am afraid to fall asleep.

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